


Once Upon a Time Was a Backbeat

by AuburnRed



Category: Jem and the Holograms
Genre: Anorexia nervosa-implied, Background stories, Christian fundamentalists, Con Artists, Drug addicted parents, F/M, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, New Age religion, Present Tense, Prostitution, Psychic Abilities, Rock Bands, Unrequited love affairs, child prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuburnRed/pseuds/AuburnRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We know about Riot's past, but what about Minx and Rapture's? The Stinger girls reflect on their pasts while having dinner with Riot's family and unearth some interesting truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Little Minx Will Startle You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we hear Minx's story.

Once Upon A Time Was a Backbeat  
A Jem fanfic  
By Auburn Red

Summary: We know about Riot’s past, but what about Minx and Rapture? The Stingers women reflect on their pasts and some surprising truths while visiting Riot’s family.

Disclaimer: The characters of Minx’s mother, Minx’s mother’s pimps and clients,  
Rapture’s parents, Gaia, Orphen, and the other commune members are mine. None of the other characters belong to me. They belong to Christy Marx and Hasbro. Minx and Rapture’s real names were created by Marx, but all background information was created and suggested by me. There is a reference to Stacee Jaxx from the musical Rock of Ages and he belongs to Adam Shankman and Chris D’Airenzio. The title of the fic comes from the song, “Rock & Roll Dreams Come Through” by Jim Steinmen. The chapter titles are from “The Stingers Theme.” The events in this fanfic are shortly after “Riot’s Hope” and “A Father Should Be…”

Chapter One: Our Little Minx Will Startle You 

It is strange how things happen no? When Rio saved my life, I wasn’t sure at times whether I really wanted to help others or I really just wanted him. But now with Riot reuniting with his father and really helping Ba Nee find her father, I don’t mind being the person that I wanted to be then. 

Oh I am no Saint to be sure. I still have this amazing body and men still are putty in my hands like those two neighbor boys when we entered Riot’s parents house. I could practically see the drool forming from across the street. I winked and waved at them as they whistled at me. I think I jumpstarted puberty for them.  
The very fact that Riot, Rapture, and I are in this nice American house having dinner with his parents when we turned down a celebrity party it says something itself, no? (Of course as Riot pointed out since it is Stacee Jaxx’s party and he wouldn’t remember whether we were there or not, I suppose it is no big loss). 

“Would you like some dessert, Ingrid?” Frau Llewellyn asks.  
When we entered, Riot’s parents asked that we tell them our real names, Ingrid Kruger and Phoebe Ashe. I suppose it would be odd for them to call us “Rory,” “Minx,” and “Rapture.” I had answered to Minx for so long, that it takes  
me a second before I realize that Frau Llellwyn was referring to me. 

_Behave yourself my Minx…._  
 _My you are a minx aren’t you, come to me, my little Minxie…_

I wince to block out those memories. They are no longer a part of my life, just block them out! I’m not little Ingrid who had to hear that. I am Minx now, remember what it means, I tell myself. I turn to Frau Llewellyn.  
“Oh no _danke schoen_ madame,” I say feeling surprisingly shy. “I must watch my figure.”  
“Now you are a lovely girl,” she says.  
I smile. “Well I know-“ I pose for them like the model on the runway.  
“-Modesty has never been one of Rory’s virtues,” Herr Llewellyn interrupts.  
“One wouldn’t expect that from his friends either.” He speaks so seriously that I am not sure if he is teasing until I see the slight wink. I blush even more concerned, not because I think Riot’s father is attracted to me but because he is so different from the man I once knew- well I suppose that we are all different. 

“Well true, but videos and magazine shots aren’t created if I don’t watch myself,” I say. After all, how long will it be before my looks disappear until I look like she did before she died?  
I have been watching what I eat sometimes passing up on food. Riot and Rapture tease me about it and how I sometimes look too long in the mirror searching for any lines or wrinkles wondering how much surgery would cost to get my face fixed. I ignore their teasing and the gnawing hunger on my body. In fact this is the first time I have had a full meal in some time and despite that Frau Llewellyn is a wonderful cook, I could barely keep it down. The curse of having a body like this is knowing that I have to keep it and keep men interested because if it is gone, I have nothing else. That plus I had been watching my weight more and more since I have been thinking about Riot in that way. _Doom schatz_ , he is just a friend nothing more! I think but I push the plate away and I can  
not look at Riot’s direction any longer until he speaks. 

“You will always be beautiful to me,” Riot who up until then had been uncharacteristically silent says.  
He looks at me in a way that makes me blush and speaks as though it were the end of the conversation. I rise from my chair. “Excuse me, Frau and Herr Llewellyn I must be excused.” I leave the room before anyone could say anything. 

I only get as far as the porch to catch my breath. Why does Riot make me feel this way now? I could always control myself with men, but ever since I had almost lost out on being a Stinger, ever since Riot sang that song at our concert, the one that he wrote for his father. He has become different in my eyes but no I cannot feel this way about him. I have to control myself around men especially Riot. If nothing else, Mama taught me that. 

“The men are silly,” Mama would often say to me while she brushed her platinum blond shoulder length hair, changed into her tight black short skirts and stiletto heels, and put rouge and lipstick on. She always called them her “costumes” as though she were nothing more than an actress in a play and not a prostitute looking for clients on a street corner.  
“You show them your legs, your body and they will do anything for you, pay for your clothing, your rent, even your education. Then when you have them,” she would always say with a flick of her jangled bracelets and a snap of her fingers. “You get rid of them.” Then she would kiss my forehead or cheek on her way out. I can still smell the jasmine perfume on her face neck and hair as she kissed me good-night.

I knew that she only became a prostitute because she had to find some way to support herself and me. She wasn’t always a bad person, no. I loved her then I grew to hate her until I realived love and hate were the same thing with her. Well I suppose they are the  
same for everyone.  
She used to tease me, or style my hair, and make me laugh. In fact it is from her that I got my nickname, because when I was younger and would cause trouble, she would always call me her, _“meine kleine madchen minx._ ” Mama always had a fascination for old American movies and always wanted to be as glamorous as the actresses on the screen. Sometimes we would watch them together and quote the dialogue back and forth as we cut out pictures or studied their hairstyles and makeup trying to look like them.  
She even said that I was named for Ingrid Bergman, because Mama watched Casablanca the night before I was born.

In fact it was Mama who got me interested in music. She paid for me to study the piano when I was five years old and I would play some of her favorite music by Nico, Edith Piaf, or Billie Holliday. She had a fondness for those old torch singers and sad songs, sometimes the sadder the better. Her favorite song was “La Vie En Rose.” Every time I played and sang it, she would always have tears in her eyes.When Mama had clients over, I would silence the screams, the whips, and the grunts of satisfaction by playing Mama’s records into the night and softly sing along.

But then again I could never say that Mama was ever in complete control when it came to  
Der herren. After all it was a silly teenage boy who forced himself on her and got her pregnant, when she was fifteen. Was it not her father, my grandfather,who disowned her and drove Mama from her home outside Dusseldorf to West Berlin without a mark to her name? Was it not Rudi, the first of many pimps, who corrupted and forced Mama to transform her from Micheline Katzenhammer, an innocent fragile country girl, into Mitzi Kruger, a hard and calculating prostitute using every trick that she could to enchant men to support herself and her daughter? And how many times after her nights out did she return with a black eye or shaking hands only to reach for a line of cocaine or a shot of heroin to calm her nerves and put her into a place that I could never follow? 

When I finally hit puberty and the clients began to notice me and made advances, instead of stopping them, my mother gave me over to them. She dressed me in braids and kinderwhore dresses, as though she were turning me into a “Bild Lillie” doll for them to play with! How different my nickname was when I would hear a man in his forties say to me, “My you are a little minx aren’t you? Come here, my little minxie!” But Mama just let them do whatever they wanted with me as though she could not stop it.  
Control over men indeed! She could not even control herself!

 

“Going AWOL?” a rough American voice asks. I turn to see Herr Llewellyn standing by the door his arms crossed. “I thought for a minute there you were going over the wall.” I hesitated trying think of a good excuse. I suppose Herr Llewellyn took my silence as being offended. “I’m sorry it was a joke. Mrs. Llewellyn says that I need to work on my personal skills. I didn’t mean-“  
I shake my head. I can tell that he is trying to be friendly to us. He and Riot are really trying to mend the rift between them. Maybe I should do my part as well. “Oh no, sir,” I answer. “I was trying to get some fresh air.”  
He nods. I am not sure whether he believes me or not. “My wife and Rory were asking about you.”  
“Well I am fine, danke,” I answer wanting to sound steadier than I felt. “Though I suppose Rory could have asked me himself.” 

“I was on my way out anyway,” he says turning to the left and right as if looking for any witnesses. I hesitate. Normally I would not mind if a man came on to me, but it would not exactly look good in front of Riot or his mother. How could he do this to me with his wife only recovering from her heart surgery? I clench and raise my knee ready to kick him where it hurts. I am relieved when he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He holds his finger to his lips. “I’m trying to quit, getting finally to one or two a day, but I’m not smoking in front of my wife with her recovering and well I don’t want to hear it from her either.” He transformed from a tough American military man to a young boy who does not want to be caught causing trouble. I could not resist a laugh and offer a congratulations on managing to control his habit.  
“It is difficult, no,”I answer. “I have not smoked in sometime since I became a singer. I always think that it would ruin my voice.” My hand is shaking. It has been so long since I have smoked, actually since I have done many things. I feel somewhat lightheaded. “Perhaps one for a celebration.” Riot’s father looks confused and concerned, but he hands me the pack. I remove a cigarette and accept his lighter. 

“You don’t seem to be like many of those rock stars that we hear so much about,” Herr Llewellyn began.  
I shrug. “You mean drug addicts, alcoholics, parties and the like-“I tease.  
“Well Rory has always been conscious about his health and appearance,” his father says with pride. “That’s one thing at least I understood in him. He was never one for overindulging himself.” He looks towards me as if to see if it is still true.  
I nod. “He’s still like that. Many singers are as you hear, but not Riot. He says that he does not want to do anything that would ruin his voice, his looks, or his sexual  
desirability.” I say. I suppose Herr Lewellyn is a bit embarrassed with my frank talk towards his son. But if he wants to understand Riot better, then he must see him as we do. I continue. “I cannot speak for Rapture, but I have my personal reasons to not take any hard drugs. We drink sometimes at parties and events but not to excess. As I mentioned before I did smoke, but not anymore. At least not until now.”I smiled.  
“Our secret right,” he asks holding up his cigarette.  
I nodded. “Between friends.” 

He looks at me up and down. He hesitates for a long time before he says anything, “Ingrid Kruger?” He asks sounding the name out as if testing it. “You knew my son in school didn’t you?”  
I nod. “Yes we were friends,” I answer. More than that. He was one of the few boys in school who wasn’t intimidated by my appearance or sexual abilities that I learned during the night under Mama and my “night work” as she called my time with her clients.  
In fact he was impressed when we were partners during a science experiment and I showed him about the inner workings of an electric circuit. I had been fascinated by electronics ever since I could remember and while Mama was entertaining men I would mentally trace the passage of light from a lightbulb onto the electric currents. One of her regular clients was an electrician, and left behind a textbook. I devoured it with delight. Suddenly, my reading changed from Emil and the Detectives and Tintin to everything that I could learn about how to make electronics equipment.  
In school, Riot was impressed that I had combined my loves of electronics and music to make rudimentary synthesizers. We shared a love of music and would spend many hours trading records or playing instruments. I knew even then that he would take the rock world by storm and I like to think he felt the same of me. We did not ask about our families then. I think we just enjoyed sharing this fascination and secret between us. 

On the porch, Herr Llewellyn hesitates again. “Your mother’s name was Minn- uh Mitzi if I remember correctly and she was a who-“he begins but perhaps he sees me wince so he changes the word. “-prostitute. My wife worked with some charities including one in West Germany to help women who were in trouble. She met your mother through them.”  
I start. “I did not know that.” I say.  
He looks down ashamed. “There is another reason that I knew your mother. One day I met her on the street and well she propositioned me. I was rather short with her. You may not know that.”  
“No, I did not,”I lie for I do remember.  
“Well it’s true,” Herr Llewellyn says.“I’m very sorry if it ever caused her any discomfort or you in anyway.”  
“Its alright,” I reply. “It was in the past and my mother is dead now.”  
“Then I am truly sorry,” he says contrite. I look closely at him and accept his apology.  
No doubt we are different people than we were that day when Riot and I were fifteen.

I remember walking home with Riot, or Rory as he was then known, from our music session. Both of us wore our school uniforms. We were pretending we had been studying when I saw a red faced American man in a military uniform yelling at my mother. “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU WHORE!” He yelled. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Parading around like that in that fashion!”  
A woman who I had guessed was his wife, held her husband by the shoulder. “Darling she can’t help it,” she objected with a soft voice. “She has a daughter.”  
“Well then she shouldn’t have one,” the man yelled. “She’ll probably become a whore too!”  
That was all that I could take. I ran away from that scene crying my eyes out with Rory close behind me. “Ingrid wait up,” he said.  
I panicked as my breath caugh in my throat. “I shouldn’t let it get to me but its true enough.” I said. “That woman is my mother!”  
Rory put his arm around my shoulder and held me tight. “I’m sorry,” he said. I could tell he was being sincere. “I’m sorry for what he said too. He shouldn’t have said that to anybody, but especially not to you.”  
I laughed bitterly. “What makes me so special, the daughter of a whore? After all, I shouldn’t be too upset by that. I’m sure I will see that man later with my mother.”  
“No you won’t,” Rory objected. “He’s many things, strict, stubborn, annoyingly patriotic, but not a hypocrite.”  
“How do you know?”I asked.  
He hesitated. “He’s my father.”I was surprised.”Why do you think I play music in secret? He doesn’t like me to.” He was clearly ashamed.  
“I play to avoid my mother and her clients,” I said. Rory and I leaned closer and without another word, he kissed me. We began to fondle each other and headed behind an alleyway. He kissed my mouth and my hands reach to unbutton his trousers. He smiles as his lips leave mine. “You are a fast mover, you minx,” he teased. 

I stopped and let go of him. The words came back to haunt me. _“My you are a minx aren’t you? Come to me my little minxie!”_ I fell to the ground feeling sick. I remember panic shooting straight through me and wanting to faint. Rory leaned down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “If this is your first time, we’ll take it slowly.”  
I shook my head. “This isn’t my first time, far from!” I choked out my history with my mother and my “night work,” explaining that the real reason that I didn’t like playing at home was because I wanted to spend some time away from Mama and her clients and their leering eyes, wandering hands, and devouring mouths.  
To his credit, Rory didn’t judge me or my mother. He just helped me stand up and said “Its alright if you don’t want to. I don’t blame you. Love and sex screw things up anyway. We can just stay good friends. I don’t have too many of those.” He was so kind and honest then that I didn’t want to hurt him. I still do not.  
I shook my head. “Me neither,” I vowed so we parted friends. Even though Rory moved shortly after and I did not see him again for sometime. He was my closest friend, still is. Well him and Rapture anyway.

When I was seventeen, my mother had died, a shell of her once beautiful self her body a punctured skeleton, and her face prematurely wrinkled and toothless. She died as I played “La Vie En Rose,” one last time to her in her final hours. I vowed that I would never end up like her; that I would always be strong, confident, and in control of myself over men. I would turn that name, “Minx” into something wild something that would scratch a man in the back even as she was purring contented in his arms.  
On my own, I haunted various nightclubs, sleeping around, doing some modeling, and gaining the control over men that eluded Mama her whole life. They were good to sleep with, play with, but never once did I give my heart to them or let them turn me into something that I wasn’t. One of those men was Jerry, the lead guitarist for Nirvana (the superior German group not that pale imitation from America that dares to carry that name as well!) He invited me to join when really all he wanted was a gushing lover to “ooh”  
and “aah”over his every word and not have a brain in her head. When I could see our relationship going sour and I saw Rory, or Riot as he called himself, jump onstage in his army uniform playing with such fire and conviction and amazing the crowd, well I certainly backed the right horse. 

“You have been with my son a long time,” Herr Llewellyn begins leading me to the present. He hesitates as though he wishes to say more. “From school to starting your band and even now.”  
“Ja,” I say wondering what his point is. “He is worth following.”  
“For you,” he says. He looks at his cigarette and laughs. “My wife had this notion that you and he you know were a couple. I thought it was silly. If anything it would be him and that Jem. For what she did to put us together, surely-“  
I shake my head. I’ve been down that road before. “No, Jem is just a friend to us,” I reply. “She has a regular boyfriend. As for Rory and I, well we are friends nothing more.”  
“But you do care for him as he does for you,” he began. He is so infuriating in how he can see into someone! I see where Riot gets it!  
I turn away not wanting him to see me. “I do care a great deal for him. He is a good friend.” I leave the rest hanging in the air.  
Riot once told me that his father was not the most sensitive of men, but he certainly could feel the emotion in the air. “But?” he prompted.  
“Even if I wanted us to be more,it would never work,” I say. “We are too much alike. We both go after what we want and when we get it, we don’t want it anymore. Love and sex mess things up. We are just good friends, we should remain that way. I don’t want to lose him as a bandmate or as a friend.”  
Herr Llewellyn leaned against the railing. “My wife and I were friends before we began dating. When we realized that we were in love, it just seemed natural. We always figured that if we stopped being lovers then at least we would be grateful for what we had as friends. I like to think that it was because we knew each other so well that it made falling in love easier.” He stops as if expecting me to say anything. I could say _,Of course, but Frau Llewellyn is not the child of a prostitute and the two of you are not in the public eye as a band where every move is photographed and spied upon. You do not have to spend time and energy working on a façade that you are not sure that your ‘friend’ knows how much of is the real you and how much is an imitation. Because he clearly can’t love the imitation because he sees to much of himself in it, but he can’t love the reality because that means he will lose a lover and a friend. And you are not the one who is afraid of losing yourself over him._ I can’t say all of that so I just say nothing.  
I suppose my silence said more than any argument, because Herr Llewellyn continues  
“I suppose the only question you need to ask yourself is whether you’re in love with my son.”  
I feel flushed and very lightheaded. Is there a place to sit down? My legs feel weak. I hear Riot’s father asking if I am alright at the same time that the door opens and I hear Riot’s voice. “Any longer and I was going to have to send for a search party-“ I then hear him stop as Herr Llewellyn holds onto my shoulders to steady me. Riot then runs next to his father as they lower me onto the porch to have a seat.  
“Rory get some water,” Herr Llewellyn commands. Riot leaves and returns a few minutes later, glass in hand.  
“ _Tut mir leid,_ ” I apologize. “I don’t know what came over me.” I gulp down the water.  
“Its alright, Minx,” Riot says. “You’re going to be okay.”  
“Take a deep breath,” Herr Llewellyn says. I breathe slowly as the two men continue to look concerned. I keep my eyes focused on Riot and his father. I feel steadier.  
“Do you want to go home?” Riot asks.  
“I’m alright,” I say continuing to drink the water.  
“Are you sure,” Herr Llewellyn asks. I am certain that he is thinking of his wife and her condition. I nod.  
“I’m alright,” I repeat. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”  
“Good,” Riot says. “I would hate to get a new synthesizer player this late. You know you can be replaced.” Despite the tone in his voice, I can see the light shining in his eyes and his mouth falling with concern. He is partly teasing, but he is also worried about me. “I told you this crazy fad diet wasn’t working. You’d better start eating normally, before this becomes a regular habit. I’d hate to lose-a good synthesizer player.”  
I look at Herr Llewellyn. He knows it wasn’t just my diet that caused me to feel dizzy. I could hear the catch in Riot’s voice. “I won’t,” I promise. Let me never lose what we had and still have.

Soon, Rapture, Riot, and I are ready to leave his parent’s home. I shake their hands. Herr Llewellyn says good-bye to me. “Think about the answer to my question,” he says.  
“I will,” I say.  
“What question?” Rapture asks.  
I smile. “Oh just a private joke between us.” Rapture shrugs.  
Riot puts his hand on my shoulder. “I just want to see if you’re alright.”  
I want to put his hand off my shoulder, but I like how it feels. “I’m alright now.” I say. Maybe someday I will answer Riot’s father’s question. For now I am just grateful that Riot is here. It is enough. For now anyway. 

 

Author’s notes:  
Herr and frau means Mr. & Mrs.  
As Wayne Newton and Ferris Bueller taught us danke schoen means thank you very much. :D  
Doom schatz means silly darling  
Meine kleine madchen minx means my little girl minx (Actually minx is krote or hexe, but her name would be lost in the translation). :D  
Tut mir leid means I’m sorry  
A Bild Lillie doll was a fashion doll that began in Germany in the 1950’s and was the predecessor of Barbie


	2. Our Music is Rapturous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we hear Rapture's tale.

Once Upon A Time Was A Backbeat  
A Jem fanfic   
By Auburn Red

On a personal note: RIP to Saturday Morning Cartoons. To the creators, animators, writers, voice actors and other personnell on them: Thank you for making this woman’s childhood in the ‘80’s –‘90’s and adulthood in the early 2000’s brighter, more fun,  
more action oriented, funnier, livelier, and yes more animated. From Monchichis to Buzz Lightyear of Star Command and many shows before, in between, and since, it’s been a fun time. :D

Chapter Two: Our Music is Rapturous

I am sitting in this nice living room next to Riot’s, or rather Rory’s, mom. Riot and Sgt. Llewellyn are outside talking to Minx. She had some sort of panic attack or something so I guess they are talking to her. I hope she’s okay.  
So now its just the two of us, me and Riot’s mom. I’m never good at assessing these situations without trying to figure out what I can get from people, without trying to find out their weaknesses. But something about Mrs. Llewellyn makes me not want to, partly because she’s my friend’s mom and partly because of her health. What if I inadvertantly do something to cause her to get sicker? Those kind of thoughts never occurred to me. What’s the matter with me?   
“Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Llewellyn. It was delicious.” I say trying for politeness. Oh Godess, how Leave it to Beaver can I possibly get?  
“You’re welcome, Phoebe,” Mrs. Llewellyn replies. I wonder if Minx is as wierded out as I am by hearing Riot’s parents refer to me by my first name. I can’t even remember the last time I was called, “Phoebe” before now. 

“So Riot tells us that you are recovering nicely,” I begin.   
She nods. “I am doing fine thank you for asking,” she said. “Sometimes I get a little tired every now and again, but my doctor assured me that I will make a full recovery.” She sighs happily. “Of course it helps that my husband and Rory are committed to becoming closer and helping me.” I nod. They do seem happier than they have been and well I don’t think I have ever seen Riot look more relaxed, happier, and well less self-involved. It’s a very weird feeling. I think it’s one I can get used to.   
I reach into my bag and pull out a rose quartz crystal. “Maybe this will help,” I say. I hand her the crystal. “If you put it under your pillow and focus your energy, it will help heal your cardiovascular system.” I also hand her several tea bags. “Chamomile herbal tea will also provide healing.”  
She nods. “Yes some women in church were talking about herbal tea.” She held onto them. “Thank you. I suppose I should ask how much.” She sounded skeptical. I wonder if Riot or his dad filled her in on me.   
How tempted am I to charge her for this, but my good nature gets the better of me. (Yes despite evidence to the contrary, I do have a conscience on occasion!). “On the house,” I say. “For the mother of one of my closest friends.” I sigh warily. “Of course they won’t do the complete trick. You probably should still go see a doctor. They will just put you into a positive place and hopeful frame of mind.”   
“The power of positive thinking,” Mrs. L. suggests. “It can be very helpful.” I agree. I mean how could I live with myself if she relies only on what I give her and she doesn’t get treated? This whole honesty thing isn’t as bad as I hoped. Maybe it will catch on. 

Besides despite myself, I happen to like Mrs. Llewellyn. She’s sweet and genuinely concerned for her son unlike other mothers that I could name. Speak of the devil-I look at the coffee table and a book meets my eyes with a pair of very unwelcome authors. I don’t have to read the spine to know who wrote it but I pick it up anyway: The Devil’s Dance: Attacked By Music For the New Age by Rev. Quentin and Rebecca Ashe. I hold up the book feigning ignorance. “What’s this?” I ask.

Mrs. Llewellyn looked and sighs “Oh, I thought that I put that horrible thing away. It’s a book one of the women from church gave me. It’s a terrible thing really about rock and roll music and how it will lead to the destruction of civilization or some such. Its just awful some of the things that they say about Rory and the two of you.”  
I nod and can’t resist rolling my eyes. “I have some idea,” I say. I glance at the author picture. There’s the Rev., same as ever: his hair is grayer and he is still wearing those pinched glasses and those seemingly austere but surprisingly tailored dark suits. He is glaring with that same “holier-than-thou” stare. I remember it well. The Mrs.’s hair is as bleached blond as mine and not a line or wrinkle on her face. I have a feeling that her face owes more to the surgeon’s knife than to any clean living and her Chanel outfit and Cartier jewelry tell me the same thing. I glance at the publishing company: “Ashe to Ashe Ministries,” I say. “Cute.” Oh gag!  
“Not exactly clever,” Mrs. Llewellyn jokingly observed. She then starts. “Your last name is Ashe isn’t it? You’re not-“  
I shake my head and give a reasonable impression of someone who is used to the question. “Oh no relation, don’t worry about it.” I say. Complete and utter lie but I wasn’t going to tell this really nice woman that these two are my parents. “May I?” I ask as I open the book.  
Mrs. Llewellyn waved her hand. “Please go ahead. The book is awful anyway.”   
“So you said,” I laugh. “What have we done to get on their dishonor roll?” I flip through the chapters. Oh how sweet! There is a whole chapter dedicated to The Holograms, the Misfits, and the Stingers. Aww, thanks Mom and Dad! 

I find it personally hilarious that the goody-goody Holograms are in their bad books but I should have figured that not too many people would be good enough to get in their good ones. I look through and read about how the Holograms’ different hair colors express “rainbow colors which are synonymous with New Age occult,” and Jem’s star earrings “clearly reflect the sign of the pentagram.” Apparently their songs like “People Who Care,” “Love Unites Us,” not to mention their ethnic makeup represent a One World Government (At least when I searched for the Rev. and Mrs’ racism, I was not disappointed). Songs like “She’s Got the Power,” “I Got My Eye On You,” and “Like A Dream” and even the name Jem obviously refer to the “Whore of Babylon.” Well! 

Let’s see thumbing through for the Misfits, I see descriptions of them as Satan’s Mistresses who sing like “all of Hell is yowling and writhing in torment.” (No argument here!). That their songs like “Universal Appeal,” “I Am a Giant,” and “Welcome to the Jungle” refer to “Lucifer setting himself higher than God.” Of course there is the description of the hair and makeup being an allegiance to the Devil. Ironically of the two bands, the Rev and Mrs. think that the Holograms are worse because they “hide a sinister nature behind a seemingly altruistic philanthropic façade.” I jokingly wonder if someone should check if there is a Satanic altar behind Starlight Mansion. 

And now here is our little banner story: The Stingers! Well never let it be said that the Rev. doesn’t mince words. Apparently, Riot’s “sexual androgynous nature suggest homosexual tendencies but his references to girls and women is like Satan luring young sinners to his prey.” Minx’s “scanty clothing, kittenish posturing, and loose morals are more befitting of a street corner than a concert hall, recording studio, or anywhere she corrupts the minds of young men.” (I think the young men are doing fine being corrupted on their own, but that’s just me). And of course here I am: Rapture, “The Priestess of the New Age. With her constant references to crystals, pyramid power, mesmerization, and the occult she is befitting only for the Hell that she will drag herself and listeners into.” Yowwchh! Did I just teleport into Mom’s kitchen and listen to another diatribe? 

I close the Devi’s Dance book shut and put it back on the coffee table. “Nice, very nice,” I say sarcastically. “Some people don’t have anything better to do with their time than drag people down.”   
“I know, that’s hardly what the love of God should be like,” Mrs. Llewellyn says. “My husband was furious. Oh him and Rory had their problems in the past, but they were always private. He is furious that the Ashes would degrade and malign other people in public for profit. He considered confronting them over it.”  
I am tickled by the thought of Sgt. Llewellyn taking on my father but I hide it with a smile. “What does Riot think?” I ask.   
“Oh he dismisses it,” Mrs. Llewellyn says. “He thinks its all good publicity.”  
I nod. “True, I know its hurtful but the fact that they are stirred up shows we’re making an impact. They wouldn’t be saying this kind of stuff if we weren’t someone worth   
talking about. If you want my advice don’t let it get to you. You know its just opinion and you know what we’re really like. Some friend giving this book to you. Did she know you’re Riot’s mother?”  
Mrs. Llewellyn shakes her head. “I don’t think that she meant anything by it. We are always sharing books back and forth. I don’t think she even knows that we’re related.”  
I bite back a sardonic comment. Sure she didn’t. I bet she did know and was shaming Riot through his mom and what “class” for a woman to give this to her when she is recovering from heart surgery. But Mrs. Llewellyn seems like the type to want to see good in everyone so I decide not to say anything further about the subject.

Why am I surprised that they would say such things about me in public when they didn’t mind when I was their daughter? I spent much of my childhood living two lives; one the outside trying to be the perfect Christian child, the pastor’s daughter with the neat trimmed baretted hair, the ankle length skirts, the Bible verses and stories, church choir, and the shy demeanor. Oh I tried to be the good child that Dad spoke about in his sermons and Mom wrote about in her books like Raising a Godly Child in a Non-Godly World.  
But even as a little girl, I knew there was a dark side to their so-called “Love of God.” It manifested when I read fairy tales like “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves,” or watched shows like Bewitched. They would forbid it and would beat me to prevent me from watching or reading. If I played with friends who were any other ethnicity but WASP’s, they would demand that friend go home and for me to find other friends quoting something about “being equally yoked with our own kind.” It didn’t help that my then best friend, Mandy, used to agree with them about that.   
When I told Mom that I wanted to be a singer or a writer, she said “No, you will become a housewife and delight in your husband and family.” (So said a woman who made a living of telling other women that they shouldn’t have a career outside the home. Even now, I still can’t figure that out.) I knew that my parents’ lives and mine would take different paths but it never occurred to me how different until I was about 8. 

I brought home a book of supernatural poems from the library. My parents grabbed it from my hands and ripped the pages out. “Daddy,” I screamed. “That’s not mine!” But my father threw the book down with just the covers and the pages strewn over the floor.   
Both Mom and Dad glared. “Don’t argue with me, Girl,” he always called me “Girl” when he was mad as though I wasn’t worthy of a name. “Lean over the chair.” 

I leaned over knowing what was coming as Dad took his belt from the loops and swung the air with it. He then hit my back ten times and ordered me to my room. “I hope you learned your lesson, Girl!” And I did. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself. When my reading graduated from fairy tales to Ursula K. LeGuin and Madeleine L’Engle, I learned to read them at the public library or hide them in book covers and inside the drawers of my room. While I was singing hymns, I was thinking about the Greek and Celtic mythology stories of godesses admiring their strength, beauty, and courage, and wondering why people didn’t worship them anymore. While I was attending Sunday School gatherings and Youth Camp, I would be mentally picturing myself as characters like Eowyn, Morgan Le Fey, or Meg Murray or sometimes when I was feeling particularly vindictive witch characters like the Wicked Queen in Snow White. The books that I devoured about fantasy and magic became my refuge as a way to hide from the constant judgements of my parents. Most of my childhood, I felt pushed and pulled in two different directions but I felt like I was alone with my thoughts until I met Gaia, Orphan, and the rest of the gang at Hell House. 

I remember when I was 14 and Mom and Dad coerced me into passing one of these “promote the church but really promote us” fliers. They were doing that more often after Dad received the television contract from the local station to have their ministry on TV. Of course like the doting fool I once was, I obeyed. In hindsight it should have occurred to me to question them further like where did Mom get the money for all of those designer clothes, why did Dad trade his Ford for a cadillac, and why he was having all of these suddenly private meetings with their secretary, Melissa St. John, but I wasn’t usually that curious. Maybe I thought Mom and Dad could do no wrong then. (Boy do I know differently now). 

I was canvassing various stores when I looked at a strange new one that opened up: Gaia’s New Age Shoppe. I walked inside and the smell of incense hit me. A guy, a few years older than me wearing black looked from behind the counter. “Can I help you?” he asked giving me the eye. He was kind of cute with his dark hair in front of his eyes and his piercing blue eyes. He looked right at me, so I was kind of tongue tied at first. Also, I looked around the store. It was filled with books on magic and witchcraft, New Age music records, Buddha statues, Godess figures, Tarot cards. I had never seen a place like it before. I stammered a bit so the guy added. “Have you learned to talk?”  
I glared. He may have been cute but clearly he was a show off. “Can I speak to the owner, please?”   
“She’s busy reading a customer’s palm right now,” he said. “What can I do for you?”  
I held up a flier. “Hello, I’m part of Rev. Quentin Ashe’s Ministries and we would like to invite you to come to our Soul Saving Ministry at the Second Presbyterian Church. It will be filled with music, fellowship, and good wholesome Christian entertainment.” I gave a smile that I hoped was convincing.   
He looked at the flier and looked around the store. “Do we look like your target audience?” He jibed.   
“Well no,” I said. “But the Reverend Ashe believes that anyone could be God’s audience.” Oh I still cringe at how robotic I sounded. I knew even then that I was quoting words that weren’t mine.  
He picked up on that too. “Well that’s the least rehearsed speech I ever heard. Clearly, we are not interested.” He was about to say more when the beaded curtain behind the counter jingled as two women exited. One looked like your standard older woman who needed help, confused, nervous, yet somehow relaxed. The other was a sight. She was dressed in a long black caftan and her red hair curled down to her shoulders. She wore several bangle bracelets on her wrists and two long hoop earrings that reached down to her shoulders. I can still remember the way she looked at me as though she were sizing me up. She turned to the cashier. “Now, Orphan, if she wants to speak to the owner, let the owner speak for herself.” She wished the other woman away and looked directly at me. “I’m the owner, Gaia Stillwater.”  
I was confused. “Gaia?” I fought an urge to giggle.  
The woman smiled. “It’s what I call myself. Now then what is your name and what are you selling?”

I introduced myself and spoke again even flatter than before. The woman picked up the flier humoring me and read it closely before speaking. “Charming. Unfortunately, I don’t think that you believe it anymore than I do.”   
I was stunned. “No this is meant for everyone to understand God’s love.”  
The woman smiled. “And the fact that it would feather the Reverend’s nest is not a motivation.” I stammered trying to defend my parents but the woman laughed. “Oh don’t worry, my child. Everyone has to get by in this world. But how can you speak of what you are uncertain about or don’t believe yourself?”   
I was confused and in my confusion, I dropped the fliers and the book that I was reading. I knelt down and picked it up but not soon enough for Orphen to read the title. “Hmm, Mastering Witchcraft: A Practical Guide for Witches, Warlocks, and Covens by Paul Huson. I guess you were planning on reading it between verses of “Jesus Loves Me.”  
I grabbed the book from him almost ripping the cover, I was so embarrassed.   
Gaia glared at the guy. “Orphan, that was uncalled for!” She approached me putting her hand on my face. “Clearly she wants to belong somewhere.” Without realizing it I opened my palm to her. She studied it without talking for a few minutes. “Let’s see, you are creative and talented. You are very curious and intuitive about certain things that your parents would never approve of. You are doing their work for their ministry but you want more out of life than what they offer. You have a better future waiting for you as a writer or a musician, one that could bring lots of money, fame, and closer to Spirit.” I closed my palm, confused.   
“I didn’t tell you that they were my parents did I?” I reasoned.   
Gaia laughed. “No but its good common sense. I’ve seen some of your mother, Rebecca Ashe’s books in stores. You look just like her and well what teenager doesn’t feel like they fit in with their parents? And if I had a dollar for every kid who wanted to be a rich and famous rock star well I would close up my shop and retire to Hawaii.” I felt embarrassed and couldn’t say anything. “But it is true that you don’t belong with your family. What if I were to tell you that there is a place that you can go where there are friends who understand you?”  
I was wary. I heard enough about Charles Manson’s Family. I did not want to be Orange County’s answer to Susan Atkins! “What kind of place?”  
Orphan looked towards Gaia in surprise. “Are you sure, Gaia? She’s one of those Bible Thumpers! What if she spills on us?”   
“I trust her, Orphan,” she said. “And so should you.” She turned to me and handed me a business card with an address. “Don’t worry its not a cult. Cult leaders insist people live with them, swear fealty to them, and break off all ties to the rest of the world and worship only them. We don’t do that.” She said. “It’s more of a place where people who are outcasts meet and stay as long as they want, share stories, talk about concerns, and raise our consciousness. I think you might like it.”   
I looked at the card. It was a pretty wealthy area in town. I even knew the place. It was an old mansion that was rumored to be haunted. “Hell House?” I asked. “There’s some creepy stuff going on up there! Music and chanting and stuff! There are Devil Worshippers!” What was I getting into?  
Gaia laughed. “We call it that too, but we certainly don’t worship the Devil. It doesn’t quite live up to the name. It’s a good place. I think you will find it exactly what you need.” I looked again at the card and agreed to see them after school the next day.

I didn’t know what to expect when I entered Hell House. I guess probably something out of Rosemary’s Baby or in Dad’s sermons about Anton LeVey. But it probably was nothing like what I saw. The same smell of incense from the store hit me as soon as I walked inside. It was bright and colorful with people sitting on the floor or in travel beds, in beanbag chairs or standing around talking. Some were braiding others’ hair or painting flowers on the wall. Orphan was in a circle with others playing instruments and singing.   
I was surrounded by various people, long-haired men, women dressed as gypsies or wearing bell-bottoms, some dressed as primly as I was. There were people of different races, ages, including some kids about my age. One woman even had a baby that she was breast feeding. She looked up and turned the baby from her “You here to see Gaia?” she asked. I nodded unsure of what else to say. She called Gaia. Gaia came in and looked me up and down. At first I thought that she would kick me out saying that it was a mistake but she greeted me with a warm embrace. Even though I felt sick with the perfume, it felt nice and welcoming. “Welcome, Phoebe darling!” She said. “I see you met Willow and her little Starshine.” I nodded at the woman and her baby. “She came here from San Francisco, joined a commune, poor thing, for a man who was less interested in her spiritual connection than her body. She came here late one night. Now, she works on behalf of the Women’s Movement.” Willow nodded proudly.   
“You just let her live here?”I asked.  
“Well I travel a lot,” she replied. “ Besides running the store, I’m a psychic so its nice to have someone around to keep the homestead. Everyone here has a story like that.” She waved her hand around. “That’s why they call me Gaia. I guess I’m like a mother to them. They come here when they have no other place to go. Sometimes to visit, sometimes to stay. Its just a place to relax, and find out who we really are. Take Orphan for example.” She pointed at her co-worker, who gave me a laugh and wink as if I wasn’t worth the trouble. I know that I was having a hell of a time pretending to ignore him. Gaia continued. “He lost his parents at a young age, shuffled around from one home to another, ended up hitchhiking from New York to California, and been with me ever since. He’s done some anti-war protests and writes and speaks about the supernatural.”   
“You should have seen me with my long hair and beard,” Orphan grinned putting his arm around me. “Thankfully they’re gone.”  
“No thanks,”I said. “I’m good.”  
Gaia sat me down to talk to me. Some of it I didn’t understand at the time about cosmic consciousness, and destiny, and synchronicity and how she felt that I hadn’t belonged anywhere because I wasn’t where my destiny was leading me. I don’t know to this day how much of it was true, but I think in some ways she was right.   
“One way we find out who we are is by meeting our true selves,” Gaia said. “Like me, would you go to a New Age Shoppe run by Gerte Offheimer?” She slapped her knee and laughed. Her caftan sleeve flew open and I could see a concentration camp tattoo on her arm. She hurriedly covered it up in embarrassment. “Lie down for a minute.”   
I was nervous. “Will it hurt?” I asked not sure of what was going on.   
Gaia shook her head as other members of the house circled me. “No, you will just relax yourself and see a Higher Power. First you must drink this.” I know it sounds weird, but I accepted the tea. I felt dizzy and lightheaded. I could only hear Gaia’s voice telling me to be calm and to slowly count down. As I counted down, I could literally see my spirit leave my body. 

I can’t really describe how I felt. I just know I felt excited, giddy, flushed, and scared at the same time. I could see myself floating, floating to these colorful pink clouds and could see stars shooting by. I could hear a voice, like Gaia’s but not quite like Gaia’s warmer, older, speak to me. “I am within you child!,” she said. “I am around you. You will write of me, sing of me. You will try to find me many times by the wrong means but one day you will. You are one with me, never forget that.” As she kissed me, I felt a surge of I don’t know if it was electricity or spirit fill me with so much excitement. I breathed excited, fast, feeling a sense of power almost an orgasm. I felt that power fill me with such light, beauty, and magnetism. Then slowly it evaporated, I calmed down hearing Gaia’s voice telling me to come out and return to my body.

I remember it was darker when I came to as I looked at the people around me. “Welcome back,” Gaia said. “If you wish, you can shed your old self and be reborn. Do you wish this?”  
“I do,” I said feeling relaxed like I woke up from a great dream.   
“Phoebe Ashe is no more among us,” Gaia said. “What do you wish to call yourself?”  
I considered for a minute. I remembered all of the bull my parents told me about the Rapture and how it was supposed to be so wonderful to go to Heaven with only people who were just like them. To me, it sounded like an ultraclique or country club where only certain people could get in and everyone else waited outside with panting breaths like dogs hungry for meat. However Dad described Heaven could not be anything as close to the excitement and beauty that I felt. It was wonderful, it was glorious it was-I knew what name I was going to take.  
“Call me Rapture,” I said.   
“Welcome Rapture,” Gaia replied as the circle clapped for me and all repeated welcome. 

After that it became easier to visit Gaia. I would tell my parents that I was involved in a “Jesus Club” after school. Instead, I learned about mentalism and scrying from Gaia, meditated and had visualizations and wrote about them in poems and songs, learned how to play the guitar from some of the members. The songs that I wrote and sang were about my visions and destiny. I felt like I could fully express myself through those words. I remember I wrote, “Destiny” around that time about the feelings I had during my meditations with the Godess, and about myself and Orphan. 

Orphan and I had become well more than friends, actually we made love quite often. He was the only man that I think I ever truly felt anything for. Everything was going great until Mandy kept asking questions like “What are you doing after school?” “Whose that weird guy, you are with? Is he a Hippy or a Yippy?” 

I guess she was jealous that we weren’t close friends anymore but still that didn’t mean that she had to go sneaking behind my back, spying on me, and finking to my parents and the cops! Finally, one night we heard this large group of people approaching us including my parents and the chief of police, Mandy’s father. The chief gave Gaia a list of charges including kidnapping, disturbing public property, abetting fugitives, and lots of other crap like that. They told her that she had 72 hours to pack up and leave.   
Gaia looked at the warrant up and down seriously. I didn’t have to use any of my new found abilities to know what she’s going to say. “Well, I guess like the Romany, I have to move on.” The wail from her people was loud including mine. “Don’t worry we’ll find somewhere else,” she said.   
I saw Mandy’s smug bitchy face and I walked over and punched her on the mouth. Gaia and my parents pulled me away from her. “Control yourself Girl,” Rev. Ashe ordered. “As for you, you are coming home with us and do your penance!” He grabbed me by my arm but I pulled him off.   
“No, I’m not! These are my friends!” I yelled.   
“Friends that lead you into perdition are not your friends Phoebe,” my mother said. “You are coming with us and under these terms: you are going to be home schooled and monitored. You will remain in your room reading your Bible and learn how you disappointed your parents!”  
My father nodded. “Then you will ask for forgiveness in front of the whole congregation. Afterward, we may consent to forgive you!”   
“That seems like an awfully long way to earn your daughter’s forgiveness,” Gaia said sarcastically.  
“Quiet Scarlet Woman,” my father ordered her. “She is to earn our forgiveness!”   
“Is that really how you see it?” Gaia asked pointing at me. I felt beyond angry like I was walking through cold water and couldn’t feel anything. Gaia continued talking, “Perhaps you should ask for forgiveness from your parishioners and the money you take from them!” My father’s face reddened and my mother looked very pale. “After all, Rev. Ashe, your mansion, your car, and your wife’s and mistress’ wardrobe and jewelry don’t come cheap.”  
My father slugged her and yelled. “You speak the lies of the Devil!” As for my mother she looked frigid and imperial as though Gaia had spoken the truth but she wasn’t going to admit it.   
“You will poison our daughter’s mind with your New Age nonsense,” my mother commanded.   
Dad nodded. “She is our daughter and she belongs to us!,” he ordered. I saw my parents for who they really were. I was a posession to them, a thing. Something to brag about. He said belong differently than Gaia. He said it in a way that I was no different than his car or his house, the car and house he bought with his parishioners’ money.  
When Gaia said it, it was a word of friendship, of family.   
Gaia nodded and looked at me. “Rapture-“  
“-You disgrace the name of that Day of Judgement by calling her that name,” my father’s face turned red as he pointed at Gaia.   
Gaia looked just as angry. “No one gets in my face and hollers at me and no one orders their daughter around in public!”  
“Don’t tell us how to bring up our daughter, you miserable Jew!” my mother ordered.   
Gaia walked up to my mother and spat in her face. She held out her arm so they could see  
the concentration camp tattoo on her arm. “I have stood up to worse people than the two of you who had more creative means of insults and disposal! You don’t even register as remotely frightening.” She turned once more to me. “Rapture, we have barely heard from you. If you want to, I will be glad to take you with me but only if you want to. It’s your choice. You must choose who you belong with.” I felt tears come to my eyes. Once again the word belong was different, more welcoming, loving. That was all she needed to say.  
“Then I made my choice,” I said and stood next to Gaia.  
“Phoebe, if you go with her then you are no more our daughter,” my father ordered.   
“Then I’m not,” I agreed.   
Rev. and Mrs. Ashe were defiant but turned away. “We know you not, child,” he said. The crowd then moved away. My birth parents didn’t even look back at me. I don’t know if they ever missed me, but that’s okay. I don’t really miss them. I later picked up one of my mom’s books. I have a younger sister and brother now that seem like one of Quentin and Rebecca’s little robots, obedient Christian children. Mandy married a congressman and is involved in those Parents Against Rock Music groups that Tipper Gore and Patricia Whitmore are so fond of promoting. No surprises here. Another robot courtesy of Ashe to Ashe Ministries. Mandy and my brother and sister are the people that I might have been if I stayed. As for me, they said that their daughter Phoebe “went to be with the Lord.” I guess if they want to think of Phoebe as a separate person from Rapture who had died then that’s fine with me. 

Anyway I traveled with Gaia, first as her assistant. Later on, I learned enough to occasionally perform my own psychic readings and sometimes I would sing a little,   
which came to be a good thing after Gaia started getting sick. Well by the time we found out about the cancer, no amount of healing crystals could have treated it.   
I was with her to the end. She smiled and called me her daughter. For that I will always be grateful. I stop myself before I start crying and Mrs. Llewellyn notices. 

After that, Orphan and I traveled together. I was depressed and felt like my powers were diminishing. I don’t know maybe because I didn’t have Gaia to teach me or she didn’t teach me enough, or I was depressed because of her death. Maybe I didn’t believe in them within myself as much as I believed in them with Gaia. Anyway, by the time Orphan and I were together my psychic abilities were gone. It was first Orphan’s idea to create a psychic reading act in which I was the performer and Orphen worked behind the scenes creating the special effects and finding out details about the visitors.. At first I felt kind of bad about it, because Gaia genuinely believed in this stuff and here I was doing a show about it. How was I any different than my parents?  
Orphen laughed and said. “Come on, you are giving these people something to believe in. You believe in it too don’t you?” I nodded. “They’re just gone. We can do this until they return and besides, whats wrong with making money on the side? Gaia never spoke out against that. Besides if it gets to you just keep telling yourself its only a game, that’s all life is anyway: only a game.” After that I stopped worrying about it. It didn’t amount to very much and we didn’t make a lot of money, but it was pretty exciting and we traveled from city to city.

We managed to make it to England before the cops caught up with us. Inside the hotel, Orphan threw all of our money in two bags and said that we should separate. “Just get as much as you can and get on the train. I’ll meet you later.”  
I argued. “I should come with you! They might go easy on me. I’m still technically a minor at least for another month, juvi maybe. But if you get caught, you’ll go to prison.”   
He shrugged. “I’ve been to prison before, but you hadn’t. Besides, I don’t want them to do anything to you. Gaia never formally adopted you remember? They may send you back to the states to your folks. Do you want that?” I shuddered. No I didn’t. More than likely they would turn me out and I would end up on the streets, alone. Orphan continued.   
“Gaia wanted me to look after you. This is the only way I know how.” He walked up to me. “Come on, Rapture, you’ve always been a pain in the ass. Don’t be one now!” I laughed and started to cry. “Its over for now, Babe.” He pulled me closer and kissed me.   
I pulled away from him. “All this time, I don’t know your real name,” I said. We traveled under various aliases.   
He smiled, “Christian Scarpelli.” He kissed me again and pulled me to the fire escape. “Now get going,” he said as he shoved me out the fire escape. I ran to the train station and waited for the time, but Orphan never showed. To this day, I don’t know if he was ever caught or he managed to leave on his own. I hope he did. I still think about him a lot. 

The money that I collected managed to get me to Germany, where I spent my time on the streets playing an old used tambourine and acoustic guitar, as well as doing some psychic readings using some of the abilities that I learned from Gaia and Orphan. I didn’t have any close friends anymore and didn’t want any. I ended up on the streets. Sometimes I meditated to pull myself away from the cold nights, hunger, and despair. I could temporarily remove myself to a better place.   
Sometimes like I did when I was younger, I would visualize my favorite fantasy novels and magic books wanting to live in that world.People may have thought that I was crazy and maybe I was. I admit I had some pretty weird thoughts then. I wrote a lot in notebooks at the time. I still have them and some of them are pretty out there, I admit. Maybe the voices stayed too long, or the images became sharper. I might have spoken out loud about these things, scaring people and even myself.But at least I could lose myself in my occult fantasies. It helped me get through the horrors of being hungry, abused, harassed, and feeling hopeless. It gave me the strength to want to live through it and find some hope. 

I thought I was going to be alone until I met two other buskers, Minx and Riot. At first we had competed for audiences on the same street corner. It was Riot’s idea that we worked together and split the earnings three ways. At first I didn’t want to but a coughing fit and hunger will do that to you and make you not want to spend another winter in the Berlin streets on your own, so together we three became the Stingers. It was hard at first but the struggle, I admit, was worth it and now here we are, world famous, rich, and just as Gaia predicted I was writing and singing about my visions. Its been a good trip. 

Mrs. L. and I continue to talk. Mostly she tells me stories about Riot when he was a kid, when Riot walks in.   
“So whats going on here,” he asks friendly.   
“Oh nothing, having a bit of girl talk,” I say. “Hows Minx?”I ask.   
“She’s okay,” he answers. “How are you Mom?”   
“I’m fine, Rory,” Mrs. L. says. “Thanks to Phoebe.” She holds up the tea bags and quartz crystal.  
“What are you doing to her?,” Riot asks. I can tell he’s suspicious. I don’t blame him. I’m not even sure I trust me anymore.   
“Rory don’t worry,” Mrs. Llewellyn says. “We were just talking. She has been very kind.”  
Riot looks at me wary, but he shrugs. “Alright, but take care of yourself.”   
“I will,” she promises. She smiles at me as if to say not to mind her son being protective.   
As we are leaving, I wave good-bye to Riot’s parents while Riot and Minx are talking closely about what I don’t know. They are kind of sweet together. I wonder if they are in love. If not maybe they should be.   
Riot turns to me. “Just what did you give my mother?,”Riot whispers to me. Even though he is my friend, I could hear the concern and loyalty for her and the implied threat if something happened to her.   
I look at my two friends, Riot and Minx, the first people I have ever felt close to since Gaia died and Orphan and I separated, the people that I now belong with, my family. Gaia was right. I was where my destiny had lead me.   
I touch Riot’s shoulder. “Riot,” I said. “Sometimes its not just a game.”

The End 

Author’s Notes: 

The criticisms that the Ashes make in their book about the bands are almost word for word passages from real-life religious books like Ravaged by the New Age by Texe Marrs and The Demon’s Disciples and Dancing with Demons by Jeff Godwin with the Holograms, Misfits, and the Stingers substituted for real-life rock and pop singers, fantasy movies and books, comics, and animated television shows. These books make Jack Chick’s theories seem positively sane by comparison, barely. :D To be truthful, I’m surprised Jem wasn’t referred to in Marrs’ book, but similar shows and comics like My Little Pony, Amethyst, and She Ra were. So its not too hard to imagine the criticisms for Jem wouldn’t be too different from theirs. 

Mastering Witchcraft: A Practical Guide for Witches, Warlocks, and Covens by Paul Huson was a real book published in the early 1970’s.


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